


Lumineux

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Language, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade's running out of options, but not invective.  A continuation of the story started in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/881520">Strong-Willed Warrior</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lumineux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaindy/gifts).



> Written for JWP #14: **La Fête Nationale** : aka Bastille Day. In honor of the holiday, include France or something French. Or if you really wish, write today's entry in French! 
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Bad language. Unspecified but grave whumpage. Rudimentary knowledge of the French language. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
> For Shaindy, because you asked for more.

  
  
**  
**

“ _Merde_.” I hissed the profanity under my breath, only vaguely aware that I had slipped into French. Perhaps it was in response to hearing the smugglers talk, or perhaps the earlier discussion with Doctor Watson about names and their meanings had stirred up too many memories of my father and his ability to blister paint in half-a-dozen tongues, his native French most of all.

And what were the Frogs doing here in London anyhow? We knew there was a French component of the smuggling gang, of course, but from what we’d learned, the usual pattern was that the French members of the gang handled things on the French side. Matters on English soil were handled by an unsavory mix of Stockwell and Camberwell cutthroats, Battersea dockhands, and a family of river-pilots, but we’d yet to crack how the goods made it to market, or who was ultimately running the show. Fiendish clever, whoever it was; he’d developed a code of communication that we’d been unable to discover at the Yard. I’d brought the matter to Mr. Holmes, who’d eventually cracked the code.

Perhaps the Frenchmen were here to meet the leaders, settle some dispute or make plans. That would be all well and good – the kind of break in the case we pray for – but would do me no good whatsoever unless we could continue to evade the search. And with Doctor Watson still bleeding and now unconscious, the chances of that looked slim, indeed. I’d hid him as best I could at the back of the crevice between stacks of gear, and covered him over with both our coats and what spare bits of bric-a-brac I could find besides, but it wouldn’t stand close scrutiny. Which was why I was in a bit of shadow a few feet from his hiding-place, ready to bolt if any came too near. Hopefully they’d be too busy chasing _me_ to look any further for _him_. And if I had any luck at all, I’d find one of _les imbéciles paresseux_ purporting to be constables somewhere nearby!

“ _Ici! Ils sont ici! A moi_!”

I knew that voice, although I’d never heard it speak French, much less the butchered dialect that made the words half-incomprehensible to me. But it was exactly the right one to use, just the same as the one I’d heard two of the smugglers use earlier, and those searching nearest to us whipped around and bolted in the direction of the cry.

I hurried back towards Doctor Watson’s hiding place, blessing the luck, and hoping Mr. Holmes wasn’t about to find himself in more trouble than he was able to handle. Halfway there, a thin figure darted out of the shadows and touched my arm. I’d have sworn that he’d yelled from halfway across the warehouse, but there he was.

“I told your men to be ready, but given their performance so far this evening, I don’t know how long they’ll be able to distract them,” Mr. Holmes murmured just barely loud enough for me to hear. “Watson?”

I didn’t need to be an inspector to hear the anxiety in his voice. “Over here. He’s unconscious, or was a minute ago.”

“How badly is he hurt?”

I pulled away the coverings as quietly as I could. “Badly enough, but I think he’ll be all right if we can get him to a doctor and stop the bleeding.”

Mr. Holmes said nothing, merely grunted as he slipped his arms under the doctor’s shoulders and took the majority of his weight. I grabbed Doctor Watson’s feet, and together, we did our best to hurry unnoticed away from the danger.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 14, 2013


End file.
